


Heartbreak Beat

by LindsayBay



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl Dixon and Merle Dixon are Young, F/M, Reader-Insert, Young Love, Young Merle Dixon, rooker hookers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindsayBay/pseuds/LindsayBay
Summary: Reader and Merle Dixon were in love when they were both rebellious seventeen-year-olds. Now they're nearly thirty. Reader is unhappy, bored. Merle may be just what she needs.Written for all the the Rooker Hookers on Tumblr.[Note: Explicit sex is between adult Merle/Reader only.]





	Heartbreak Beat

**Author's Note:**

> "Now" is actually the early 1990s. "Then" is 1982.

**Now**

“Guess who’s back in town,” your boss says as he hangs up his jacket. You shrug, turning on your computer. Given this shithole little town, it couldn’t possibly be very interesting. “The Dixon brothers! Wonder where they’ve been. Maybe they were just sprung from prison.”

You go very still.

“Wonder how long it’ll be before they get in trouble. Sheriff won’t be happy about this, you can bet on that. Girls around here’ll be happy, though. That whole bad boy thing. Bet you got more sense than that, though. You seem pretty level-headed. Alrighty, then.” He puts on his white dentist’s smock. “We’ve got a root canal coming in at ten, right?”

At lunchtime, you head for the Applebee’s by the freeway exit with the other girls from the office park. Jo Beth, the data entry specialist. Maria, the vet tech. Charity, the office administrator. Over the quesadilla appetizer, the topic of conversation is, once again, Maria’s upcoming wedding. You zone out, barely hearing the debate over whether or not to let the deejay play The Chicken Dance.

“Hey. Woohoo!” There’s a hand waving in front of your face. “Where’d you go, girl?”

You blink at Charity. “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“What about the Electric Slide? That’s better than The Chicken Dance, right?”

“Yeah, but not everyone knows how to do it. Everyone can do The Chicken Dance,” Jo Beth objects.

What would these solidly respectable women think if they knew about your past?

* * *

**Then**

You hate this town. All your friends are back in Athens, along with the rest of civilization. But after you got in trouble for skipping the last day of school to share a bottle of vodka with a twenty-two year old, your mother decided that you’d be better off living in the sticks with your dad. When you whined that there wasn’t anything there, she laughed harshly and said, “That’s the point, Einstein.”

Your dad is slumped in his chair again, alternating between raising a cigarette to his lips and swigging beer. “I’m going out,” you say. He nods, not taking his eyes away from the cars going around and around on the TV screen. Hypnotized by NASCAR.

There’s a couple of girls in the trailer park who are okay to hang out with. You find them sitting on a rickety porch doing each other’s nails. They eye up your vintage mini-dress as you sit down.”Hey, Anything happening today?”

Dana shrugs her shoulders. “Same old same old,” Becky says.

You lay back on the porch and groan. “God, I wish I was back in Athens!”

A couple of mopeds come tearing down the trailer park’s dirt road, pulling to a stop in front of porch. You sit up and see two boys. One is tall and skinny. The other is medium height, with broad shoulders. His curly hair is standing out on a wind-blown halo around his head. “Where’d you two steal those?” Dana jeers.”

The curly-haired boy grins cockily and gets off his moped. He’s wearing jeans with hole-y knees and a Black Flag shirt. “Won ‘em fair and square.”

“Won them?” you ask.

The boy looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your legs. “Who’s the new girl?”

“Oh, she’s not staying here, she’s going back to Athens soon,” Dana says. She stands up and moves in front of you.

“Nah, c’mon, lemme meet her.”

You jump to your feet and give Dana a little push with your shoulder. “I’m Y/N. Who’re you?”

“Shit, she don’t know who ya are, Dixon? Thought ya was a legend,” the other boy says with a snicker.

“I’m Merle. You a big city girl, huh?”

You sashay forward, hands clasped behind your back. “Yeah. I’ve seen Black Flag. Are you mostly into LA punk?” You can hear Dana huffing behind you.

“Ya into Fear? The Germs?”

“Totally.”

Merle pokes his tongue against the side of his mouth and gives you another lingering look. He’s cute as hell, with amazing, long-lashed blue eyes. He’s not that much taller than you, but he’s got muscles under that wash-faded shirt, a lot more than most boys his age. “What ya doin’ tonight?”

“Mm. Don’t know. I mean, what do people do here on Saturday night?” You’re trying to act casual, but you really, _really_ want to go out with this guy.

“I’ll come get ya at eight so ya can find out.”

“I guess so. I live in number twelve.” You can hear Dana and Becky whispering sharply behind you.

“We’re almost neighbors.” Merle points. “See them woods there? Just take that trail and it leads right to where I live. I wouldn’t recommend payin’ a visit, though. My old man has a shotgun full of rock salt and he ain’t afraid to use it.”

“But I guess you can always visit me.” You and Merle grin at each other. There’s definitely a spark between the two of you.

The other boy is getting impatient. “Come on, Merle. We got shit to do.”

“Whatever.” He gives you a wink.

After the boys leave, you turn to find the other girls glowering at you. “Why don’t you go back to Athens, if it’s so special there?” Dana says.

“I’m going to. Soon.”

“Good. Because we’re sick of hearing you talk. Oooh, I’m so special! I think I’m hot shit because I made out with a guy from some band no one’s ever heard of because I’m a slut!” says Becky

“It was a guy from REM! They get played on WUOG!”

“Yeah, well, you’re still a slut,” Dana snaps.

“And you’re just a couple of dumb redneck girls.” You turn on your heel and stomp off.

* * *

**Now**

You stop off at the 7-11 after work to get milk. There’s a man in front of you at the checkout line. You can only see his back, but his curly brown hair, thick shoulders, and long legs are making your heart speed up. Well, it’s a small town. It’s inevitable that you’ll run into Merle sooner or later. But maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s just some other guy with huge arms and a high, tight ass. When he reaches the counter, you see his face in profile. “Gimme a pack of Marlboros,” he says in a raspy voice. It’s Merle, alright.

Feeling your stare, he turns to look at you, putting on a panty-dropping smile. His eyes widen and his lips part, his brain taking a couple of seconds to process what he’s seeing? “Y/N? What the hell are ya doin’ back in _this_ town?” He hands his money to the clerk, then moves just enough for you to get to the counter.

“My dad isn’t doing too well and I have to take care of him. I can’t get him to leave. I got him to move out of that trailer park after the sheriff found a meth lab next door, but that’s it.” You lift your chin under his incredulous stare. He’s standing so close that you can feel his body heat. “What are you doing back in town?”

He grins again and you get a little tingle at the base of your belly. Jesus. He was cute at seventeen, but now he’s nothing short of beautiful. He’s wearing sunglasses pushed on top of his head, a black henley-style shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and faded jeans. “Friend of mine has a line on some work for me and my brother. Paintin’ houses.” He licks his lower lip. “Why ya wearing a monkey suit?”

You look down at your sensible maroon skirt-suit. “My work clothes. I’m a receptionist for a dental surgeon.” You take your credit card back from the clerk and have to walk around Merle to get to the door.

He follows you. “Ya hardly seem like yerself. What happened to that Athens party girl with all them wild clothes?”

“I’m coming up on thirty, Merle. What were you expecting me to be doing?”

“What happened to the shop you was gonna open?”

“A funky boutique catering to college kids isn’t really a way to earn enough money to pay for a sick father.” You’re standing by the driver’s side door of your Mazda, ready to open it. Merle quickly leans one hip against it. He’s so close to you again, close enough for you to detect a whiff of motor oil from a spot on his jeans. “Can’t believe ya changed so much.” He stretches out a hand, brushes his thumb along your jawline. “My li’l wild girl must still be in there somewhere.”

“I have to go, Merle. The lady that looks after my dad while I’m working needs to get home to her schnauzers.”

“Fine. I’m gonna call ya, though. I’m gonna save ya from yaself.”

This gets a smile out of you. “You do that, Merle.” You get in your car and watch him mount his Triumph. The sight of those long legs straddling the black bike is nothing short of erotic. He drives away, shades over his eyes and the breeze making his curls bounce, and suddenly you’re trembling. You knew you’d end up seeing him, but you could have used a little more time to prepare yourself.

Two and a half months. Only seventy-five days. That’s how long you and he had been together, almost ten years ago. But to a seventeen-year-old, seventy-five days can seem like a lifetime, especially when they’re filled with high drama.

* * *

**Then**

A vintage cocktail dress with a hemline starting to tatter, fishnet stockings, Doc Martens, a generous helping of colorful plastic jewelry, black eyeliner, the reddest lipstick. You know you look cute.

At twenty after eight, you hear the moped crunching on gravel. You make him wait while you tie a scarf over your hair, stuff your money and fake ID in your bra, and finish smoking a Kool. “What’s takin’ ya so long?” you hear Merle yell.

“He could knock at the door,” your dad grouses. “Don’t do anything too dumb tonight. I don’t wanna get in trouble with your momma.”

“Yes, father dear.”

Merle looks grumpy when you open the door, but he can’t help breaking into a grin when he gets a good look at you. “Wow, ain’t no girls in this town look like you.” You climb on behind him, tucking your dress around your legs. You wrap your arms around his middle and then you’re off.

Merle turns the moped onto the highway. “Faster!” you say into his ear. He increases speed until it’s maxed out. Not as fast as a car or motorcycle can go, but it’s still exhilarating. Much more exciting than in a car. There’s nothing between you and the rushing air. The moped goes down a steep hill and you lift your arms like you’re on a rollercoaster, getting that little fillip in your stomach. You feel like this is a night when anything could happen.

Merle pulls the moped into the driveway of an isolated house, then leads you up a set of wooden stairs to the second story of a garage. “This is Louie’s. His parents ain’t never home.”

The second story is an apartment. The walls are covered with a collage of hardcore bands, horror movie scenes, and naked women, obviously cut from the pile of magazines that fills one corner: _Maximum Rock and Roll, Fangoria, Hustler_. There are are a little over ten kids here. The boys are clumped around a boombox, arguing about what mix-tape to play next. The girls are huddled together in a corner. Your heart sinks a little as you realize that this is one of those evenings where the girls are expected to be spectators.

Merle joins the argument without bothering to introduce you to anyone. “I don’t wanna hear none o’ that straight edge shit, Lonnie! I’m gonna melt ya tape with my lighter if ya try to stick it in.”

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment before heading for the girls in the corner. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

The girls inspect you, expressions cool. “Yeah, Dana told us all about you,” one of them says. Crap. You lean against the wall, leaving a good amount of space between yourself and the other girls. They’re very pointedly engaging in local gossip, a conversation that you can’t participate in.

A tape is popped in and turned up so loud the music distorts. Fear, _I Love Livin’ In The City_. ‘ _My house smells just like a zoo/It's chock full of shit and puke!_ ’ The boys start jumping around, slamming into each other, bouncing off walls. Merle lands hard enough on an old, plaid couch to make a crack that can be heard over the music.  

That song ends and one by Black Flag begins. You can see how this night is going to go. You’ve been through this same damn night too many times before. No one notices as you creep toward the door. As you walk down the steps, you can hear the boys hollering, “ _Six pack_!”

You’ve walked maybe two miles when you hear the moped coming up behind you. Merle pulls up in front of you, spraying gravel on the shoulder of the road. “What the hell, Y/N?” He looks pissed.

“You were totally ignoring me! Why do boys think that girls should just sit and do nothing except watch boys do things?”

“Because girls just sit around and talk about nail polish and shit! They don’t do nothin’ fun.”

“Maybe girls would like to mosh if they knew they weren’t going to be flattened by some goon if they try.”

“I ain’t never seen a girl want to.”

“Well, I’ve tried. Got a black eye and a sprained wrist. Oh, and some asshole punched me in the stomach just because he could.”

Merle’s eyes widen at that last sentence. “That’s fucked up. I would never do that to a girl.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of guys who don’t want girls doing the same things they do. I guess we’re just supposed to sit around and talk about nail polish.”

You both go silent.

“What do ya wanna do?’ Merle asks.

You point at the moped. “I want to drive.”

Merle tilts his head. “Sure. Ain’t mine, anyways.” You mount the moped in front of him  and his thighs hug yours. He gives a quick lesson on driving it, then puts his hands on your hips.

“I want to go down that one hill again,” you say. And you do, at least six times. Every time, you get that funny rollercoaster feeling in your stomach. The last time, you’re going so fast that you scream. Then you realize that the motor’s cut out and it’s running on inertia.

“Shit. Run outta gas. Guess we’ll have to find something else to do,” Merle says as he helps you pull it to a stop. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. You turn so his curls tickle your nose. Unlike a lot of teen-age boys, he smells good. “I bet this’d be a whole lot more fun from the front.”

Turning around is a bit clumsy and giggle-inducing, but after some experimenting, the two of you are face to face, with one of your legs over one of Merle’s. The very first touch of his lips on yours sends a shock through your body. You’ve kissed a lot of boys before (and a few men), and it has ranged from okay to horrible. This is your first time experiencing the chemistry that makes a kiss more than just two orifices mashing together. One kiss makes you want more. When the tip of his tongue slips into your mouth, you actually like it; before, you’d always thought is was gross.

You hear the sound of a car coming down the hill, but you ignore it. You’re too into the kissing. It pulls to the side of the road and stops. A door opens. “I’m sorry to interrupt such a touchin’ moment, Dixon, but I got a call from Stu Wilkins. Seems he’s lookin’ for his kid’s moped.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Sheriff McMurtry. I borrowed it and forgot to bring it back,” Merle says. “Ya can take it.”

“Let me guess. It’s out of gas.” The sheriff shakes his head. “Help me get it in my trunk and then I’ll drive you two home.”

You and Merle sit in the back seat together. The two of you start to kiss. “Not in my car,” the sheriff says. “Keep at least a foot of moonlight between the two of you.” Merle hops to the left, then slides his hand over until it finds yours. He taps your hand with his pinkie before entwining his fingers with yours. You grin like a loon.

The sheriff drops you off in front of your father’s trailer. You can see your dad’s nosy neighbor, Mrs. Gillespie, peeking out her window as you get out. “Now, don’t you let this boy get ya into too much trouble, girl,” the sheriff scolds. “I grew up with his daddy, and he could sweet-talk a homecoming queen into robbin’ a liquor store.”

“I promise, I won’t rob any liquor stores. Just banks.”

“Get in the house already.”

It’s coming up on eleven o’clock. You’re far too keyed up to sleep. Your dad is fast asleep on the couch, sedated by beer. Nothing short of the end of the world will wake him up. You go to your room and and turn your boom box on loud and dance around your room all by yourself. _‘I wanna hold her, wanna hold her tight/Get teenage kicks right through the night, all right_ ’.

* * *

**Now**

You hear your father rolling toward the kitchen. “You better not be getting another beer!”

“I’m a grown-ass man. I can have a goddamn beer if I want one.”

“Yeah, but when you get drunk and fall out of your wheelchair, I’m the one who has to try to get you back up. Sheriff says if he has to come out to help again, he’s going to have to get the county involved, and they might just plunk your ass in a nursing home. You want that?”

Your father cusses, but you hear him roll back out of the kitchen without opening the refrigerator.

You’re out on your apartment’s deck savoring a cigarette. You know you should quit, but it’s not as if you have any other vices. Your life is remarkably vice-free these days. You don’t even drink any more. You’re sitting on a lawn chair and paging through an issue of _Spin_. The sliding door is open so you can hear what your father is up to.

“Hey!”

You look down at the parking lot. “Merle!” You’d heard a motorcycle earlier, but had ignored it, thinking it was a neighbor. There he is in a pair of army surplus pants and a tight black tee shirt, giving you that cocky grin.

“Found ya in the phone book, but when I tried callin’ yer old man hung up on me.”

“Yeah, he’s a little cantankerous these days. Merle, what are you doing?” Some of the bricks in the facade of the apartment building stick out a bit to form a decorative pattern. Merle is using those bricks as finger- and toe-holds and is wall-crawling to your second-story deck. He pulls himself over your deck railing and ends up falling on his butt. “Nice work, Spidey.”

He jumps up and dusts himself off. “It’s like bein’ kids again, havin’ to sneak around.”

“You never had to sneak around with me. My dad was totally checked out.”

Merle sits in the lawn chair across from you in that same pose you remember: knees as far apart as possible. You’re glad you have sunglasses on because your eyes zoom right to his crotch. _It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten any_ , you think wistfully.

“Ya got anything to drink?” he asks, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. This only makes the bulge in his pants more of an eye-magnet. It also lifts his shirt a little, showing a wedge of tight stomach. You’re starting to feel overheated. You make a quick run into the kitchen to grab one of your father’s beers for Merle, taking a minute to place it against your neck to cool yourself down a little.

“Who are you talking to?” your father asks querulously from the living room.

“Just a friend, Dad.” When you hand the can to Merle, he’s looking you over, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “What?”

He gestures with the can. “That dress. You look like a mom on a sitcom.”

You kind of agree with him. You don’t really love the long, floral number you’ve got on. “I work in an office in a small town. Fishnets and Doc Martens aren’t going to cut it.”

“Ya still got that tattoo, though, right?”

“Yes. Tattoo removal is expensive.”

He leans forward, doing that thing where he pokes his tongue against the side of his mouth. “Lemme see it,” he says silkily.

You know you shouldn’t. You know you should tell Merle to get off your deck and stay the hell away from you. You know that he’s exactly the sort of trouble that you don’t need right now. But he’s beautiful, and you’re bored and lonely and a part of you _wants_ trouble. Holding his gaze, you slowly inch your dress up your legs. You lift it high enough for him to see the edge of your practical Hanes Her Way panties. The tattoo at the top of your right thigh is lopsided, the cheap ink turned an odd greenish color. ‘Merle’.

Merle leans back, adjusts the front of his pants. You can see he’s starting to get hard and you feel an answering flare of heat between your own legs. “Jesus, girl. I wanna get ya alone. Lick that tattoo, and every other part of ya.”

You get a vivid image in your mind’s eye: his head between your thighs while you’re holding on to those curls, his tongue moving on you the way it’s moving on his lower lip right now. You feel yourself flush all over. “There’s--there’s no getting me alone, though. I have to take care of my father.”

“What time does he go to bed?”

“Seven o’ clock.”

“He a good sleeper?”

“Eh.” You wiggle your hand in a kinda-sorta gesture.

“Guess we’ll have to be quiet, then.” He stands up. “I got some shit to take care of first, though.” He puts his hands on your hips and pulls you snug up against him, touching his forehead to yours. Your eyes lock. Then he tips up your chin and gives you a hard, deep kiss. Your arms go around him, your hands reaching under his skirt to caress the skin of his broad back. His mouth tastes like beer. The sensation of his tongue stroking just inside your mouth is making you weak. You can feel his erection and you want to grind on it, but you’re giving your neighbors an eyeful as it is.

Merle groans and pulls away from you. “Shit. I’m about ready to do ya right here. But I really have to go. See ya later, TV mom.” He drops a kiss on your forehead, then starts climbing over the railing.

“You can go out through my apartment, you maniac.” You lean on the rail and watch him descend, arm muscle popping. “And bring protection,” you call down.

* * *

**Then**

Three whirlwind weeks.

You’ve had crushes before, but this is on a whole different level. You barely sleep. You barely eat. You don’t need to. You’re running on some new, mysterious, delicious source of energy.

The two of you are laying on your bed, under the sheet. Your dad is at work, not that it matters. He has to know by now that you’re having sex under his roof, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Your boombox is playing a mixtape you’ve just made. _‘I am a just red brassiere to all the boys in town/Put this bus in top gear get me out of here_ ’.

“I swear, if I become like my dad, I’ll kill myself. All he does is work and watch TV. It’s like he’s already dead,” you say.

“I’ll kill myself if I become like my dad because he’s a piece of shit.”

“You can stay here, you know. My dad doesn’t care.”

“Naw. I still gotta take care o' my brother.”

“Your dad doesn’t hit Daryl, too, does he?”

“Uh uh. He goes after me because he had to marry my momma because she was pregnant with me.” He sits up and lights a cigarette. “I was supposed to be an abortion. He gave my momma the money and she went and spent it on baby clothes and a crib. He likes to tell me all the time that he wishes--” His mouth snaps shut and his eyes go small and hard.

“I…” You reach out and touch his back. He flinches, jumps out of bed. Padding naked to the window, he stand there staring outside, the marks on his flesh on vivid display. He takes short, angry puffs on his Marlboro. “You trying to give Mrs. Gillespie a thrill?” you joke tentatively.

“Anyone ever tell ya ya talk too much?”

Your temper is always close to the surface, just a little roiling reservoir of anger waiting to bubble out. “If you don’t like how much I talk, you can get out! Asshole!”

“Fine.” He stubs his cigarette out in the pot of your pet cactus and starts yanking his clothes back on. By the time he’s tying his boots, you’re starting to panic.

“Don’t go! Merle, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!”

“Whatever. I’m used to people telling me to go away. I won’t be botherin’ ya any more.”

You launch yourself out of bed and onto Merle, wrapping your unclothed self around him. He resists at first, but then the two of you are kissing like you’re trying to eat one another’s faces and falling back down on the bed.

Three weeks with this boy that you believe you must save.

* * *

**Now**

“The fact that you can get in here so easily is really making me reconsider living here.”

Merle has climbed to your deck again and popped open your sliding door, finding you in the kitchen washing the last of the dinner dishes. His eyes widen as he takes in the cute little nightie you’ve changed into. “Your old man in bed?”

“Yeah.” Merle grabs a wet plate from you hands, puts it back in the sink, and backs you up against the counter. “Jesus. You’re hard already.”

“Been thinkin’ about what I’m gonna do to ya all day,” he rasps.

“Oh, yeah?” You grin up at him while you squeeze the bulge in his jeans. “What exactly do you have planned?”

“First I’m gonna kiss you. For a real long time. Nothin’ else. Gonna get you all wet and crazy, wantin’ more. Ya gonna be so desperate, ya gonna be humpin’ my leg.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Ooh, you sweet-talker.”

“Then I think I’ll suck on them juicy titties for a while. Maybe motorboat them a li’l bit.”

“Mm. You sure you can move that slowly? You feel pretty eager.” You start undoing his belt buckle. It’s been well over a year since you’ve gotten a good dicking, and you want to just get to it already.

“Yeah, but I jacked off this mornin’.”

“Oh, my God, Merle!” You start laughing again.

“I was layin’ in bed and started thinkin’ o' ya wearin’ that monkey suit and how much I’d like to get ya out of it and, well…” He makes a very distinctive gesture with one hand. You’re still laughing, but you’re also vividly imagining Merle naked, laying under just a sheet, biting his lip and moaning while he strokes himself, and, frankly, it’s turning you on even more. You’ve got his belt undone, but when you go to unzip his jeans, he gently but firmly removes your hand. “Not yet. I’m gonna make ya beg for it.”

He lowers his head and takes your face in his hands, kissing you slow and soft. You let your touch wander all over him, his strong arms, his thick shoulders. Your hands go under his shirt, feeling the muscles move under his corrugated skin. You kissed some of those scars when they were fresh, as if you could make them disappear with your love.

The kisses grow harder, deeper. You moan when he nips at your bottom lip. His hands move a little lower, his fingers spreading out on your neck. The sensations are traveling straight from your mouth to between your legs. Merle nudges one knee between yours and your thighs part. As his tongue thrusts in and out of your mouth suggestively, you press yourself against him, trying to ease the throbbing in your nether regions. You start rocking your hips and your breathing quickens. What you really want is Merle inside you, but you’ll take what you can get at this point. You whimper against his mouth as you climb toward your climax.

Merle takes his leg away. “Son of a bitch!”

He laughs deep in his throat. “Told ya so. Where’s ya bedroom?”

Grabbing him by a belt-loop, you march him through the apartment. “My dad’s room is right next door. Try to keep it down.”

Once you’re inside your room, Merle shuts the door, then leans against it, just looking at you. “Take that nightie off," he orders. You push one strap down, then the other. The pink wisp of fabric falls to the floor, and you're completely bare. Your nipples tighten under his hungry gaze. He chews on his lower lip and presses his hand against his erection. “Jeeeesus. I could just look at ya all day.” You sit down on the bed, give him a coy look as you run your hands up your inner thighs, spreading your legs. “Touch yaself. I wanna see how ya do it.”

You smile at him as you stroke one finger through your wetness, finding your swollen clit and circling it. Merle sucks in his breath. He starts yanking his clothes off as fast as he can. He tries to get his jeans off, then realizes that his boots are still on, so he’s hopping around with his hard-on sticking out trying to get them off and it’s hilarious and hot at the same time. He finally gets his boots and socks off. He frantically rummages through his jeans pockets until he finds a little foil-wrapped packet.

“I thought you were going to take your time. I thought you were going to make me beg for it,” you taunt him.

“I forgot how fucking sexy ya are. Oh, fuck,” he moans as you put one foot up on the bed, giving him a clearer look at the way your finger is working your clit. He sits on the bed next to you and starts tearing at the condom wrapper.

“I’ll do it.” You kneel in front of Merle, not able to resist giving his pulsing, blue-veined cock a squeeze and making him groan. You run your fingers around the head, which is slick with pre-cum.

“Dammit, girl,” he growls. You put the rubber in your mouth and lower your head, using your lips and tongue to roll the latex sheath down his hard length. When your done, Merle moves to the middle of the bed and kneels. “Get over here right now.”

You crawl to him and sit on his lap facing him, grasping his cock while you lower yourself onto him. Merle puts an arm around your back and bends his head down, sucking at your nipples as you start to ride him. You roll your hips, savoring the sweet friction. You can hear Merle making little animal-like noises in his throat as his tongue strokes, flicks, and rolls your nipples. You feel a flutter in your lower belly. “I’m gonna come,” you moan. You feel Merle’s cock twitch inside you as he makes another one of those rasping sounds. He’s close, too.

You shift, changing the angle of your hips so his dick strokes against your g-spot with every thrust. “Oh, God, Merle.” Your orgasm rolls through you like thunder. “Oh, God!”

Merle tosses you down on your back and starts fucking you hard and fast, surprising another climax out of you. The sound he makes when he comes is downright beast-like.

The two of you lay there panting, looking into each other’s eyes and grinning.

“Y/N!” You hear your father’s old-man voice. “What’s going on?”

“Just watching TV, Dad!” You and Merle have to muffle your laughter by burying your faces in each other’s necks.

* * *

**Then**

It’s mid-summer in Georgia, and the air is so thick you could almost eat it. You lay on the grass, not moving, feeling the sweat roll down your body. The side of Merle’s head touches yours, his body laying in the opposite direction as yours. Daryl is somewhere nearby. He’s becoming a more constant presence in your life, but he’s so quiet that you sometimes forget he’s there.

“Admit it. It’s a good song,” you say.

“It’s… girly.”

“Every person in the band is a guy.”

“Music for girls.”

“Whatever. You only like what _Maximum Rock and Roll_ tells you you should like. You’re a sheep. A punk sheep.” Merle snorts, trying not to laugh. “I mean, anger isn’t the only emotion, you know? You can listen to music that expresses other things.”

“But when I listen to angry music, it makes me _not_ angry. I jump around and break shit and… I don’t think about nothin’. I don’t have to think. I can just… be.”

“But still. Not all music has to make you run around the room like a maniac. This song makes me… makes me feel like I’m melting. Like I’m just... “ You try to come up with the best way to express this thought. “Like I’m dissolving and floating in the air and the wind is taking me away.”

Merle turns his head and squints at you. “Is that good?”

“It’s real good.”

The song ends. “Play it again,” Merle says.

_I could feel at the time_

_There was no way of knowing_

_Fallen leaves in the night_

_Who can say where they're blowing_

_As free as the wind_

_And hopefully learning_

_Why the sea on the tide_

_Has no way of turning_

_More than this - there is nothing_

_More than this - tell me one thing_

_More than this - there is nothing_

* * *

**Now**

Today, you’re all taking Charity’s car to Applebee’s. As you walk out to the parking lot, you hear the others gossiping. “Can you believe they’re back?” Maria says, her tone of voice making it clear that she’s relishing the scandal. “After Merle got caught naked with the mayor’s wife with cocaine in the car?”

“I hear it was a threesome. Daryl was there, too. And it was meth, not cocaine,” says Charity.

“I thought it was a threesome with the mayor, and they had ecstasy and Viagra?” chimed in Jo Beth.

“I hear it was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick,” you mutter.

You’re just about to open Charity’s car door when a motorcycle pulls up. Merle in that henley-style shirt again, thighs delicious in tight faded denim. “Ya ready for lunch, baby girl? Don’t look so surprised. I actually listen to ya when ya talk.” You climb on the Triumph behind Merle and wrap your arms around his waist. You see the incredulous looks on the other womens’ faces as Merle speeds you off.

He pulls into a blind alley with walls on three sides. “Get off for a second,” he says. He sits sideways on his bike, one leg braced on the ground and the other partly pulled pulled up on the seat. “Come here,” he says, his dark blues eyes intense as they look up at you. He wraps one arm around your waist to pull you close and, never taking his eyes from yours, moves his free hand under your pencil skirt, pushing it up until his fingers brush the front of your panties. You suck your breath in and move your thighs apart, letting his fingers trace your slit through the cotton. You feel yourself getting wet almost instantly. He finds the slight swelling of your clit and presses against it in a rhythm that makes your blood move faster. He buries his face in your breasts as he works his fingers beneath the leg elastic of your underpants, caressing your slick, tender flesh. One finger inside you, then two and three, filling you as full as you can handle. His fingers crook, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, stroking and thrusting against it. You hold onto his shoulders for support as he pleasures you, your knees going shaky. He doesn’t stop until you’ve come on his hand three times, and then he licks his fingers clean.

“Get back on, there’s still time for me to take ya to a drive-through.”

You can see his erection through his jeans. “What about you?” You reach out to touch it.

He stops your hand. “Ya gonna take care of that tonight.”

* * *

**Then**

“ _I fuckin’ hate him_.” Merle paces back and forth like a caged panther, vibrating with rage. “ _I want to fuckin’ kill him_.” He’s covered in blood. His lip is split, his nose is swollen to twice its size, his eyes are starting to blacken. One of his fingernails has been torn off. “He’s a piece of shit. He’s been beating the shit out of me my whole life and when I fight back he calls the fuckin’ sheriff like the chicken-shit coward that he is. I ain’t goin’ back to juvie!” Baring his teeth, he kicks the corner of your dad’s trailer until the siding starts denting in.

You’ve seen Merle angry before, but this is a new level of rage. You try to put your arms around him, but he dodges you. “Just let me clean you up a little.”

“I’m calling the sheriff if you kids don’t settle down,” Mrs. Gillespie shouts through her sagging screen door.

“Shut the fuck up, ya miserable old bitch!” He picks up a toy truck some little kid has left out and throws it cleans through that screen door.

“Merle, you should get out of here before you get in more trouble.” You grab him by the arm. He turns on you with a snarl, raising his arm and preparing to backhand you. You cry out and flinch, putting your arms up in front of your face. The blow doesn’t come. Lowering your arms, you see Merle frozen, his face pale.  He makes a choked sound, then takes off running toward the woods behind the trailer park.

You follow, but it’s hard to run in the shoes you’re wearing, vintage stilettos you scavenged from an aunt’s closet. You follow the path through the woods, picking your way through broken bottles and bags of garbage. There’s even a gut pile from a poached deer, its stench sickening in the summer heat. You finally find Merle sitting on a stump with his back to you, hunched over. He sits up and wipes at his face when you call his name. He doesn’t turn around when he speaks to you in a thick voice. “I ain’t gonna be like him. I’ll kill myself first.”

“You don’t have to become like him. You won’t.” Cautiously, you move closer to him, like you’re approaching a wounded animal.

“I have to get away. If I don’t, I’m gonna kill him.”

You touch his shoulder and he pivots, burying his face in your stomach, clutching at your dress like he’s drowning. “Come with me to Athens.”

“Can’t leave Daryl.”

“Bring him with. We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

**Now**

“You’re going to make me late for work,” you say sleepily as Merle kisses and licks his way down your stomach.

He looks up at you, grinning while he pushes your legs apart. “It’s gonna be worth it.” He grazes the insides of your thighs with his stubbly cheeks. You sigh at the sensation of his fingers parting your lower lips. His tongue moves silkily, slowly, exploring every millimeter of your most sensitive flesh.

“That’s so good, Merle,” you sigh as you stroke his curls with one hand. It’s hard to care about practical things like your job with his tongue lapping between your thighs.

He moves his hand, opens you up more. “Think I’m gonna suck on this li’l pink jellybean I found.”

You start giggling, but laughter quickly turns to moans as he does just that, giving you a long, gentle, rippling orgasm. You pay him back with a demonstration of your deep-throating skills.

When the two of you head for the kitchen for breakfast, Mrs. Walsh is already there. She gives Merle, who’s wearing nothing but his boxers, a disapproving look. “I’m only cooking for your father,” she says haughtily.

“Fine.” You settle for a quick bowl of cereal before you run to change into the same clothes you wore to work the day before yesterday. You drop a kiss on the top of Merle’s head before you leave.

“Hey, doc,” you say cheerfully as you hang your coat up behind your desk. You’ve had maybe four hours of sleep. Your jaw is a little sore. You’re in a wonderful mood.

Your boss doesn’t smile. “Since no one else is here yet, I think we should have a talk.”

“Oh?” Business has been a little slow since that new dental surgeon set up shop in the newer, shinier part of town. Are your hours getting cut?

“I need you to give me your key to the drug cabinet.”

“What?”

“I, uh, have heard reports that you’re hanging around with Merle Dixon. There are opioids in that cabinet. I can’t take chances.”

“You’re serious? Really?”

“I think you should hand that key over now before I start reconsider keeping you as an employee.”

Fucking small towns.

At lunch, your eyes glaze over as the conversation once again centers on wedding plans. Oh, no, one of the bridesmaids has been in a car accident and has casts on both legs! Would it be rude to replace her? “Jesus Christ, of course that’s rude,” you mutter.

The other women go silent. Then Jo Beth says, “How’s it going with Merle?” Three pairs of eyes look at you avidly. You wonder which one told your boss.

You take a sip from your diet soda, wishing you’d ordered something from the bar. “He’s the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

The other women titter. “Oh, you’re so bad!” Charity says.

“No, I’m just honest. I mean, be real. Don’t you ever want to ditch your boring-ass tie-wearing boyfriends? Would you be obsessing over all this stupid wedding shit if you were getting a good dicking on a regular basis?”

Dead silence.

“I mean, Goddamn, y’all love talking about the Dixon brothers so much. Why can’t you admit they get you wet? I bet you think about them so you can come when you’re having sex.” You stand up abruptly, your chair tipping over. “Tell my boss I won’t be back.” You walk right out of that Applebee’s, leaving your cowboy burger behind.

* * *

**Then**

Seeing a car headed toward you, you stick out your thumb. It slows down. You open the door. “Where you headed, sweetheart?” a middle-aged man says.

“Athens.”

“I’m going’ that direction. Hop in.” You wave and Merle and Daryl come out from behind a tree, getting in the car before the driver can change his mind. You sit in the front seat. The driver stares straight ahead, his jaw tight. “Huh. Thought you was alone.”

“Oh, these are my brothers. You don’t think a girl would be out hitch-hiking by herself, do you? That’d be dangerous. All kinds of weirdos and perverts out there.”

This is how you make it to Athens, exploiting horny old men with bad intentions. It’s early in the morning when you finally arrive there, dropped off by a cranky trucker. By the time you walk to your house, your mother is off to work. You find the key in the potted plant and by ten o’clock everyone has been bathed and fed and gotten clean clothes. You and Merle head for your bedroom to fool around and fall asleep. You wake up in the afternoon and quickly pack up some food, toiletries, and clothes in your backpacks. As you’re locking the door again, your mother’s next door neighbor peers out her door. “Y/N? I didn’t know you were supposed to be back.” She gives you a sharp look. “Who are those boys?”

“My cousins. Sorry, Mrs. Ransom, we have to get going.” The three of you take off running. You take the lead, headed toward Dougherty Street. You find an alley to stow your backpacks, then head into downtown Athens. The three of you spread out. You approach a likely looking man; young, fashionably dressed, someone who looks like he may have money. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you.” You put clasp your hands behind your back, look down, look back up at the man. “I really need to make a phone call, but I don’t have any change. You wouldn’t happen to have a quarter, would you?” After a couple of hours of panhandling, the three of you meet up again. Daryl was the most successful, of course. That big-eyed waif thing he has going on is very effective. Altogether, you’ve got around ten dollars worth of change.  

It’s Friday night and you head toward the residential streets, keeping an eye out for parties. You come across a house with the doors thrown open. Music is blasting: the B-52s, _Party Out of Bounds_. You make Daryl stay outside. No one looks twice at you and Merle as you wander through the house. Merle palms lighters and packs of cigarettes. You slide some music magazines down the front of your dress, sneak into a bedroom and help yourself to the condoms and pot in the nightstand, then head to the bathroom to unwind a roll of toilet paper into a flat bundle and tuck it in the front of your underwear. You meet Merle in the kitchen. You grab a package of Oreos, Merle a six-pack of beer, and you head out the back door to find Daryl again.

The backpacks are fetched from their hiding spot, and you lead the way to your friend Gina’s house. Her bedroom window still opens from the outside if it’s wiggled just right. She seems to be out for the night, so you and Merle take the bottom bunk and Daryl climbs to the top one. You sleep soundly until you’re woken by Gina’s shriek at three in the morning. 

* * *

**Now**

You run into Sheriff McMurtry outside the 7-11. “How’s your father doin’? Must be good, seeing as you haven’t had to call me.”

“Oh, he’s doing fine. Thanks for asking.”

Merle exits the store, frowning as he inspects his purchases. “Babe, they was out of the potato chips your old man likes. He ain’t gonna pitch one o' his fits, is he?”

The Sheriff looks from you to Merle. “You two back together again?” He shakes his head. “Like a moth to the flame, girl.”

Your spine goes stiff. “Last time my dad fell out of his chair, Merle got him back up.”

“That’s nice. You just remember, this time, you don’t go to juvie and your record don’t get wiped clean.”

Merle is going into his bull pose, feet wide apart, head lowered, shoulders squared. “Ya done, Sheriff?”

“With her, yeah. With you, well, I been gettin’ some complaints about that paintin’ business you work for. Somethin’ about the paint washin’ off with the first rain.”

“Ain’t my look-out. I just do the grunt work.”

“Fraud could get your ass bounced back into prison. You might want to get another job. In another county.” The Sheriff gives you a nod, “Nice seein’ you again, Y/N.”

* * *

**Then**

Now begins the weeks of begging and stealing and making love in other people’s beds. It doesn’t always go your way. Your mother changes the locks on the house, some nights you have to sleep outside, one night Merle has to beat up a man who is irate that you ditched him after he bought you a bottle of Jack Daniels. Your stuff is stolen a few times. You get caught shoplifting at Wuxtry Records and now you can’t go back there. Some homeless people don’t like you panhandling in their territory. Then there are the days that are just endless, non-productive slogs when you walk for hours and gain nothing.

But this time will always stand out in your memory as the greatest adventure of your life. Every emotion, every experience is heightened. The excitement of running from the cops, stealing moments to have frantic sex, never knowing what’s going to happen next. Moments of serendipity, like the wind blowing a twenty-dollar bill onto your feet, the street-woman who claims to be psychic who tells your fortunes in exchange for a cigarette, the hippie boy who brings you all to his place to let you sleep and do your laundry and then cooks you scrambled eggs in the morning. Some nights, you and Merle are able to get into clubs, seeing acts both local and national. Your friends sneak you into their rooms, give you toothpaste and and soap and clean socks, living vicariously through you. It all seems so grandly romantic.

“Just wait,” you tell Merle. “Once the U is back in session, it’ll be even better. Parties every night. We can pass for college kids easy.”

“Yeah, and I’ll get stuck all by myself,” Daryl complains.

“You’d rather go home?” Merle snaps. Daryl says nothing. “Thought so.”

“Shh,” Gina says, “you’ll wake my parents up.” You hiss as she starts stabbing your thigh with a needle again, tattooing you with ink she bought from an art supply shop. Now you're branded forever as Merle's. 

Maybe it could have gone on longer if it wasn’t for Daryl. A kid that young on the streets is conspicuous. Come one evening, a police officer has Daryl in the back of his squad before you and Merle know what’s happening. Merle lowers his head and charges at the cop like a bull, but ends up with one arm twisted behind his back by a second officer. Your vision starts going red at the edges when you see Merle slammed hard against the squad car. “Don’t you touch him,” you caterwaul, jumping on the second cop’s back. The next thing you know, you’re in handcuffs.

 .................

If you had merely run away, you would probably have just ended up in a foster home. But you also took a child away from his home and attacked a police officer. You’re riding in a van with several other teenaged girls, all of you dressed in the same shapeless green outfits. A bored guard sits in the back, chomping gum. A barbed-wire-topped gate slides open and you can see the ugly brick building, a graceless box. They call it a juvenile detention center. It’s really just a prison for kids. Merle was sentenced, too, but he’s halfway across the state, and you’ve been informed that you’re not allowed to send him letters.

This is where you spend your senior year.

* * *

**Now**

“I thought all those mix tapes from back then were gone, but I found this in some of my dad’s stuff.” You turn on the boombox, then climb into bed and nestle up to Merle’s bare body.

_I'm standing here on the ground_

_The sky above won't fall down_

_See no evil in all direction_

_Resolution of happiness_

_Things have been dark_

_For too long_

“Remember how much you whined when I first played this song? You acted like listening to something that wasn’t hardcore was causing you agony. And then after I made you listen to the whole thing, you liked it.”

“Yeah. Hanging around with ya turned me into a pussy.” You punch him in the arm. “Ow! Nah, but being with ya… I was a better person.”

“I got you put in juvie for kidnapping your own brother.”

“Which is better than bein’ tried as an adult for murder, which is what woulda happened if I stayed.” Merle kisses you on the forehead. “Ya saved me.”

_I found a love I had lost_

_It was gone for too long_

“I came back here after I got out, but you were in the army already.”

“Yeah. Straight from juvie to Uncle Sam. Some do-gooder program, take kids from disadvantaged backgrounds who test high and plop ‘em in the military, the structure will set them on the right path, blah blah blah.” Merle laughs softly. “That program got killed shortly after I got sent to the brig.”

“Merle Dixon, slayer of do-gooders.” You put a leg over his hip and kiss him on the mouth. You can feel him get aroused and you press against him. He pulls you on top of him, massages your ass with both hands, and parts his lips to let your tongue inside. Kissing Merle is still so much better than kissing any other man. The faint taste of mint gum, the small sounds he makes, the way he knows just when to nip and just when to suck and just when make it harder or softer. His kisses alone are enough to make you crazy, make you drip for him. His hands kneading your ass and your thighs and your back turn you on even more. “I’m gonna ride you.”

You go to grab a rubber from the dresser, but Merle holds you in place. His bounces his hips beneath you and smiles. “Would it be so bad, havin’ a li’l Merle runnin’ around?”

“Heaven help us all.”

“C' mon. Remember that fortune teller lady? She told us we’d be together in ten years.” He takes your hands in his.

“She also said that Daryl was going to be an astronaut.”

“Hey, he’s young. He could still do it.”

“I don’t even have a job right now. I can’t afford a baby.”

“So I’ll move in.” He kisses your hands. “I have a job. You stay home, take care of your old man and the baby. With your dad’s social security money, we can make it.” He starts licking and sucking your fingers. “Pease?” he says around your right thumb, giving you puppy-dog eyes.

You don’t say anything. You just grasp the base of his cock and lower yourself down on it, humming with pleasure as it fills you up. When you have him all the way inside you, you sit still, squeezing and fluttering your pelvic muscles. “Fuuuuuck,” he moans softly.

“Think I could make you come just doing that?” You give an extra-tight squeeze.

“Oh, hell, yes. Jesus, yer like that stripper I saw when I was in the army who could shoot ping-pongs balls out of her cooch.”

“Guess I know what my new career is going to be.” You give him your all, working his cock from top to bottom, still using just your internal muscles, biting your lips as you watch his mouth go slack, his eyes half-closed. “You ready to make a baby?”

“Mmm, yes,” he says hoarsely. He purrs deep in his throat when you start to bounce.

“Is it turning you on? The thought of putting a baby in me?”

He grabs your hips, pushing you down as he thrusts up. “Yes,” he growls.

“Do it, then.”

Merle abruptly rolls over, pinning you beneath him. He bares his teeth as he puts your legs over his shoulders. The two of you make plenty of noise after that, but there are no words at all. It’s a pure, animalistic fuck, hard and furious, with biting and clawing and hair-pulling. You bury your face against his neck when you come to muffle your cries.

“Jesus. Oh, God,” you pant when it’s over.

Merle is collapsed on top of you, trying to catch his breath. Your hair has fallen over your face and he strokes it off. His mouth closes over yours; sweet, soft, languorous kisses. He whispers something against your mouth. It might be “I love you.” You hook your ankles together behind his back, not wanting to let him leave your body yet. You rock against him, tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him, every dream you’ve had about him in those years apart. You squeeze him with your internal muscles again, murmuring your fantasies to him until he’s hard again, clutching at his ass as he pounds into you again. Throwing your head back, not caring who can hear you when you scream out your pleasure.

..............

You wrap yourself in your bathrobe while Merle still snores away. He'll wake up when the bacon starts frying. You're startled by a standing figure. Mrs. Walsh?” She still stops by, even though you had to let her go weeks ago, but she usually doesn't let herself in.

The older woman goes to your father’s wheelchair, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Your father is moving in with me. We’re getting married.”

Your mouth hangs open for a moment. “Okay?”

“You taking up with that Dixon boy, that’s bad enough. You do whatever you want with your own life, but your poor, dear father doesn’t have to be a part of it.”

“Okay.”

Mrs. Walsh sniffs. “You’ll have to find your own living, once you don’t have his social security to rely on.”

“Will do.” You look at your father. He’s engrossed in watching some morning news show. Living with you, living with Mrs. Walsh; it’ll make no difference to him as long as there’s television. You notice there’s a bunch of suitcases by the door. Mrs. Walsh is ready to start packing.

...............

All you’re taking with is in your backpack and the saddlebags of Merle’s Triumph. You’ve got your own pink metal-flake motorcycle helmet. The prospect of leaving this god-awful town and it’s judgemental gossip has you feeling downright giddy. You climb in behind Merle and wrap your arms around him, feeling your jeans pull tight against the slight swelling in your belly. He starts the Triumph and peels out out, heading to the highway with Daryl following.

You’re running away again, and it feels good.

 


End file.
